Seeker (25 page)

They stepped over the cord. One took my arm and pulled me away from the reader. I looked back. The lamp was still white.

They wanted me to go with them and I was in no position to decline. They half carried me back out through the airlock, and through a gawking crowd that now made no effort to hide the fact that they were watching. We exited the hall, went down a ramp, across a lobby, and into a passageway.

I was helpless. I was projecting all the protests I could manage. But nothing worked. You couldn’t talk to these guys. Couldn’t use nonverbals. Couldn’t even use the old charm.

They hauled me through double doors and into a corridor lined with offices. I realized I wasn’t simply being ejected. We were headed into the rear of the museum.

The doors were made of dark glass, and Mute symbols were posted electronically beside them. One opened, and I was ushered inside. It was an empty office. I saw an inner door, a couple of tables and three or four chairs. All standard Mute size. My guards released me and set me down.

They stayed with me, both standing, one near the door by which we’d entered, the other by the inner door. I wondered whether my chip had finished loading yet.

We waited about five minutes. I heard noises on the other side of the inner door. Then it opened. A female emerged, wearing clothing that resembled a workout suit. The color was off-white. The suit had a hood, but it lay back on her shoulders.

She looked at me, then at my escorts. They seemed to be exchanging information. Finally, the escorts got up and left the room. Apparently I was not considered a threat.

The female reached into a pocket, produced a translator on a cord, and draped it around her neck. “Hello, Chase,” she said. “I’m Selotta Movia Kabis. You may call me Selotta.”

Even under the circumstances, it was hard not to laugh. I gave my name and said hello.

She stared at me. “We are pleased you decided to visit us today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I said. “This is a lovely museum.”

“Yes.” She circled me and took a chair opposite. “May I ask what you were doing in the
Falcon
?”

No point lying. The translator wouldn’t help her read my thoughts, but I wondered whether she really needed it. “I was trying to download the navigation logs.”

“And why were you doing that? The
Falcon
has been in the Human Hall as long as I’ve been here. It must be twenty-five years.”

“It’s been a long time,” I agreed.

She concentrated on me. Made no effort to hide the fact she was in my head. “What’s the
Seeker
?” she asked.

I told her. I described its connection with Margolia, then explained what Margolia was.

“Nine thousand years?” she said.

“Yes.”

“And you hope to find this place? Margolia?”

“We know that’s a trifle optimistic. But we do hope to find the ship.”

Gray lids came down over her eyes. And rose again. The corneas were black and diamond-shaped. She considered me for a long moment. “Who knows?” she said, finally. “Find one, and it might lead you to the other.”

“As you can see,” I said, “I need your help to get the information from the
Falcon
.”

She sat quite still while she considered it. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion. The door to the passageway opened. I turned and saw one of the guards. Selotta motioned him forward. He had my chip in his right hand. I wondered if it might be possible to grab the chip and run.

“No,” said Selotta. “That would not be a good idea.”

He handed it to her, turned, and left. She inspected it, switched on a lamp, and took a longer look. When she’d finished she turned those diamond eyes directly on me. I got the distinct feeling she thought she was talking to me. Suddenly she seemed surprised. She shook her head in a remarkably human gesture and tapped the translator. “It’s hard to remember sometimes I have to speak.”

“I guess,” I said.

“I was asking whether you don’t have some qualms about the possibility of a living civilization out there. Your own people, after nine thousand years. You have no way of knowing what you might find.”

“I know.”

“No offense intended, but humans tend to be unpredictable.”

“Sometimes,” I said. “We don’t expect to find a living world. But if we could find the original settlement, we could retrieve some artifacts. They’d be quite valuable.”

“I’m sure.”

I waited, hoping she’d give me the chip and wish me godspeed.

“Perhaps we can make an arrangement.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You may have your chip.”

“If—?”

“I will expect, if you find what you’re looking for, a generous bequest.”

“You want some of the artifacts?”

“I think that would be a reasonable arrangement. Yes, I will leave the details to your generosity. I believe I may safely do that.” She got up.

“Thank you, Selotta. Yes. If we succeed I will see the museum is taken care of.”

“Through me personally.”

“Of course.”

She made no move to hand over the disk. “Chase,” she said, “I’m surprised you didn’t come to us first.”

I stood there trying to look as if attempted theft had been a rational course of action. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have. To be honest, I didn’t know whether you would allow it.”

“Or try to grab everything for ourselves.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it.” She put the chip on the tabletop. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Chase.”

Those decisions that are truly significant are only confronted once. Whether it’s the choice of a life partner, or of an invasion route, the opportunity never returns. You must get it right the first time.
— Mara Delona,
Travels with the Bishop,
1404

Back in my hotel room, I used my notebook to run the chip. First I scanned for any reference to Margolia, to a derelict, or to any kind of artifact whatever.

“Negative search,”
it said.

“Okay. Just print the damned thing out and let’s see what we have.”

“Very good, Chase. The data covers ten missions, beginning in 1381 and ending in 1392.”

The hotel made several versions of assorted nonalcoholic drinks available for its guests. While I waited for the printout, I tried one with a lime taste that was actually quite good.

The
Falcon
had visited nine suns on its last flight with the Wescotts. None had been binaries. We had the usual details on each — mass, temperature, and age, along with a wealth of associated data. We also had the details of the planetary systems, where they existed. (One of the targets, Branweis 4441, had none.) We had everything that had been on the original report and, as far as I could see, nothing more.

And everything was consistent.

I took it back one mission, conducted in 1390–91. They’d inspected ten systems on that one, and again all the data checked out.

I went over the rest of the flights, all the way back to Adam’s first mission on the
Falcon
. I saw no anomalies.

A week later I was at Takmandu, where a message was waiting from Alex.
Spare no effort
, he’d written.
Come back with the prize and consider yourself a junior partner
.

Sure, Alex. What we have is a copy of what we already had.

I was glad to check out of the hotel and get the shuttle up to the orbiter. And I can’t adequately describe my feelings, ten days later, at seeing the
Belle-Marie
again.

I got on board, said nice things to the guys in ops to get a quick clearance, told Belle I’d missed her, sat down on the bridge, and started going through my checklist. Fifteen minutes later I was on my way home.

It was a four-day flight. Mostly, I sat stewing over the amount of time and effort invested to come up with nothing. I read, watched some sims, and when I got within radio range of Rimway I called Alex.

“How’d you make out?”
he asked.

“I got the AI download. But there’s nothing new in it.” We were audio only, with a twelve-minute total time delay while the transmission traveled out and back. I made myself comfortable.

“Okay. Hang on to it. Maybe we can find something.”

Did he really think I might toss it overboard? “I’m not optimistic,” I said.

He was waiting at Skydeck when I docked, all smiles and reassurances. Not my fault nothing was there, he said. Not to worry. We’ll take another look. Who knows what we might see? “Don’t know where I’d be without you, Chase,” he added. He thought I felt terrible. What I mostly felt was frustration. Three weeks of mostly inedible food and playing mental dodge ball with Mutes, and we had nothing to show for it.

“Where’s the download?” he asked finally.

It was in one of my bags.

“Okay.” He was trying to sound reassuring. “Why don’t you get it out so we can look at it on the way down?”

“It’s no different from the official record.”

He waited for me to comply. I did, and when he had the printout in his hands, we headed for the shuttle deck. We’d gone maybe five steps when his eyes lit up and he rolled the documents into a cylinder and waved them over his head.

“What?” I said.

“The individual operations are dated. We’ve got the sequence in which they visited each system. Good show, Chase. You’re a genius.”

“Why’s that important?”

“Think about it. You did your Survey time before the quantum drive became available. When distance really mattered.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve got, say, a dozen stars to visit on a given mission. How did you determine the sequence?”

That was simple enough. “We arranged things so the overall distance to be traveled was kept to a minimum.”

“Yes.” He squeezed my arm. “So now we can find out whether the record reflects where they actually went. If they didn’t take the shortest routes among the target stars, that’ll tell us they changed something. And maybe we’ll be able to figure out where the
Seeker
is.”

When I pressed him how this would happen, he talked to me about fuel economy. “Your friend Shara is on vacation. Off on an island somewhere. When she gets back, we’ll present the matter to her and see whether she can pin things down.”

“Okay,” I said.

“By the way, you had a call from Delia. Get back to her when you can, okay?”

The following evening I met her at the Longtree, a downtown bistro located just off Confederate Park. Dark corners, stained paneling, candles, soft music. It was her suggestion, but it was one of my favorite places.

She was already seated when I got there. Dark hair framing attractive features that held a hint of anxiety. She was modestly dressed in a powder blue skirt, white blouse, and sleeveless lace jacket. Only her comm link suggested wealth: It was encased in a gold bracelet on her wrist. “So good to see you, Chase,” she said. “I’m glad you could come.”

We talked about the weather for a few minutes. Then I let her know I was surprised she was in Andiquar.

“I came specifically to see you,” she said.

Our autowaiter showed up, introduced himself, took drink orders, and hurried off.

“I should tell you,” I said, “that we’ve located the AI record for the
Falcon
. It backs up the official reports.”

“Good.” She smiled defensively. “It’s just a matter of time, though, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hate this.”

“I’m sure.”

Our drinks came. She studied hers, then raised it. “To the
Seeker
,” she said. “Wherever it is.”

“To the
Seeker
,” I agreed.

“They’d want you to find it,” she said. “I know they wouldn’t have wanted it to stay lost.”

“I think you’re right.”

Delia adjusted her jacket collar, tugging it together, pulling it around her as if to fend off something. “Chase, I know my parents have been part of your investigation. Bits and pieces of it are getting back to me.”

“We haven’t really been investigating your folks,” I said. “It’s the missions we’ve been looking at.”

“Phrase it however you like. It’s the same thing. Word’s getting around, and people are calling me to ask what kind of cover-up they were involved in.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “We’ve tried to be circumspect. I know no one’s accused anybody of anything.”

“The investigation is enough. It constitutes an accusation. I’m sorry to say this, but I’d be grateful if you would stop.”

I looked out through the window. People hurried by, bundled against a cold night. “I can’t do that,” I said.

“I’m willing to make it worth your while.”

“You just said your mom and dad would want the
Seeker
found.”

“That’s what
they
would want. But
I
don’t want the family name destroyed.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am.”

She no longer looked friendly. “They’re not alive to defend themselves.”

“Delia, there are no charges. Nobody’s claiming they did anything wrong.”

“Doctoring the record, if that’s what happened, would be a criminal offense, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. I suspect so.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Please take a minute and think about what you’re doing to us.” The waiter was back to take the dinner orders. The way things were developing, I wasn’t sure we were going to get to dinner. She looked at me, looked at the menu, started to say something, and shook it away. “The special,” she said. “Rare.”

Red meat.

I ordered a boca casserole, which, for my off-world readers, tastes much like tuna. I also asked for a second round of drinks and settled in for the duration.

“Incidentally,” she said, “I had another visitor who was interested in my parents.”

“Oh? Who was that?”

“His name was Corbin.
Josh
Corbin, I think.” She bit her lip. “Yes, that’s right. Josh. Young guy. Midtwenties.”

“Why was he interested?”

“He said he was doing a history of Survey operations.”